


Imminence

by ohnoscarlett



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, mentions of past domestic abuse, offscreen minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: Brendon is a werewolf, a creature who can turn himself into canine form at will.  Spencer is just a lonely guy trying to make it in LA.  They come together when Brendon abandons his pack and finds a place to start a new life just when Spencer decides to start living his again after a painful loss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the novel "Sharp Teeth" by Toby Barlow. Beta generously provided by [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[cloudlessclimes](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[kueble](http://kueble.livejournal.com/). Written for [](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[bandombigbang](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/) 2011, wave 2.

**Title:** Imminence  
 **Author:** [](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/profile)[**ohnoscarlett**](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/)  
 **Band(s):** PatD (plus some FOB for good measure)  
 **Pairing(s):** Brendon/Spencer  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 11,625  
 **Warnings:** mentions of past domestic abuse, offscreen minor character death  
 **Summary:** Brendon is a werewolf, a creature who can turn himself into canine form at will. Spencer is just a lonely guy trying to make it in LA. They come together when Brendon abandons his pack and finds a place to start a new life just when Spencer decides to start living his again after a painful loss.  
 **Author’s Notes:** Loosely based on the novel "Sharp Teeth" by Toby Barlow. Beta generously provided by [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[**cloudlessclimes**](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[**kueble**](http://kueble.livejournal.com/). Written for [](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandombigbang**](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/) 2011, wave 2.

  
It’s not easy, not by a long shot. The pack was safe, but it was all about control. He didn’t have any of it. The pack didn’t question. He definitely did.

Brendon was a coyote. He was alone. Alone was trouble.

He wasn’t really a coyote, not _Canis latrans_ , one of those lanky beasts lurking at the edges of civilization. He was something more; not just a man, but not a dog, or a wolf either.

Brendon just wanted to lie low. He wanted the beach. He wanted a _boyfriend_ ; somebody nice and uncomplicated, and not the whole pack One Woman, One Leader deal. He wasn’t interested in that. Hadn’t been interested in _her_ , which frankly, was part of the problem, since they couldn’t hold the wanting of her over his head like they did the others, get them to do what they wanted with promises of her.

He knew there were at least two other packs in the area. One was in Long Beach, near the docks. It looked like a gang with a lot of dogs, but that was only if you didn’t know better. The other was near San Pedro. There were loose dogs wandering the streets. Too many, really, to all be strays. Brendon definitely had to avoid those, and anyone else with a territory they felt needed defending. It made his life difficult, if not next to impossible.

One out of five people in Los Angeles has a dog.

He could work with that.

***

Brendon was seventeen when his parents caught him kissing a boy behind the hedge in his back yard. He wasn’t a child, but not yet a man, though the choice they gave him forced him to become one quickly. Out of their house and on the streets if not for friends, at least for a time. He finished high school like that; bouncing from house to house.

Brendon thought he was safe from it all, done with it, when he moved in with the boyfriend. He was a nice guy, had a good job, a stable place, and he really liked Brendon. Turned out he liked Brendon whimpering on the floor, bruised and bleeding and begging forgiveness for imagined slights. Liked him on his knees. It was easier to kick him when he was down.

Furtive trips to the emergency room. Broken nose. Eye so swollen he couldn’t see. The worst was when he thought his jaw was broken, after a particularly vicious round involving a kick to the head. Not broken, only dislocated. _Only_ dislocated.

Brendon finally found himself hunched down in one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs, gently cradling a bruised and swollen wrist. He could see the imprints of fingers in his skin, feel the bones grating if he tried to flex his hand. It was definitely broken. Hot tears slid down his cheeks.

There was a man sitting next to him as he cried. Brendon couldn’t pinpoint when he appeared, but he listened as Brendon poured his heart out onto the dingy linoleum. When he was done, the man talked, assuring Brendon that he needn’t go back. He didn’t have to stay in a relationship whose major milestones involved stitches and x-rays.

For a while Brendon thought the man next to him in the waiting room was a social worker. He had been there before, cautiously choosing his words and deftly sidestepping any mention of pressing charges. But it soon became clear that this man, whoever he was, was no social worker. Mentions of safety, sure, but also of power, and change. It helped.

It helped to hear that he could find strength inside himself.

Brendon then wondered if he was a priest, or a member of the clergy of some sort, if not that. But no. Definitely not a priest, either. Later, much later, that thought would make him laugh.

The man was still sitting in that spot when Brendon returned, freshly casted and clutching a prescription for painkillers. He was sick at heart. Finally in that place where he was ready to try and move on from the boyfriend. The man’s dark eyes gleamed in the yellow light, a beacon in the fog swirling in Brendon’s head. Brendon’s feet led him there, but it was something else that led him to the pack. Something much deeper. Something with teeth.

Brendon sat at Pete’s table, sad and angry; at himself, at the boyfriend, the world. Pete had options; Pete had resources. When he laid it all out for Brendon to see, to choose, Brendon leaped at the chance.

He woke up with the pack lying all around. It came as kind of a surprise to see the sheer number of them. There had been a couple of people milling around the house when he had first gotten there with Pete, and not a dog to be seen. But _after_ , after his transformation, after he made the change that first horrible time, then there were dogs. Dozens of them: big, sleek, shaggy. Not dogs. _Wolves._

It was different living with the pack. It was safe. For that alone, the safety, the _loyalty_ , the dedication, Brendon would have stayed in the house as he was, and foregone the change, letting the mass of the pack protect him. But that wasn’t part of the deal. Pete made it clear: if he wanted the wolf, he could have it, if it didn’t kill him; if not, he was going to die anyway. People just didn’t know about the pack. They were in, or they were dead. It had been an easy choice for Brendon; the boyfriend probably would have killed him sooner or later anyway. Taking his chances with the pack were just as well.

They were watchful creatures. Brendon used his eyes so much more than he ever had before, particularly when he didn’t have a voice. He wasn’t just a dog; _they_ weren’t just dogs. It was much more than that. When he changed, he still retained his consciousness. He was still _Brendon_ , just in a different form. He was powerful. Hungry. Sexual. He was always hungry for something, and at least the food tasted better.

It was nothing like he expected it would be. The change had nothing to do with the phases of the moon, for one. Brendon could change whenever he wanted. It was just a thought, and with time and practice and discipline, he could turn into a dog in a little over twenty seconds. After a while it didn’t even hurt. He got used to it. In a way, it reminded him of his life before, with the boyfriend. He had gotten used to the pain.

After a while it hadn’t even hurt.

They had to be cautious of smells. Smell was a powerful force for humans, primitive. The olfactory nerve had a direct connection to the limbic system, that center of emotion, behavior, and memory. They were linked in the most basic of ways, and with that, a scent, a whiff, a passing breeze, could trigger the strongest of memories, flip a switch on emotions and behaviors. And that was for _humans_. Multiply it a hundred-thousand times for a dog. A smell could incite the change _like that_.

Wolves didn’t need blood, but when the change came, control could be tricky. It was especially true for the new recruits. And there was that certain hunger, the need for meat, tied to the need to bring it down. They knew of a guy who hadn’t been able to pick up take-out chicken without flipping his shit and wanting to eat the restaurant staff instead. It wasn’t like that for Brendon, not at all. Certain smells just made his hackles rise. Like a particular brand of laundry soap that had been favored by the boyfriend. It made him want red meat. He used to be a vegetarian.

The longer Brendon was with Pete’s pack the more his memory flickered. His past became less important. The boyfriend faded, like the scars he left behind. Life became more about the now. They would drive out to the desert--out toward Vegas, but never that far, for which Brendon was grateful--and run. They would race away from the cars, playing and wrestling like a litter of puppies. It was meant to tire them out, completely, in a way that they couldn’t back at the house in LA. When they were done, most of them were drained, but satisfied. For Brendon, there was still something missing.

Pete was an executive. They all worked for him, or the company, in some capacity. Brendon often served as a driver. He was young and non-threatening. Boyishly handsome and clean-cut. He liked to talk and was charming and polite. It was impossible to tell a wolf from a man if you didn’t know to look for the subtle signs. To all outside observers, Brendon was just another Angelino. He was perfect for it. While it lasted.

The pack splintered when Ashlee left them. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want Pete, and she didn’t want any of the rest of them, apparently. She just disappeared. And without her as the grounding force, the focus for their energy and motivation, so many of them just slithered away into the darkness. Brendon took it as another opportunity.

***

Brendon found a nice neighborhood. Santa Monica. It was far enough from the packs that he could breathe a little easier, but still on the beach. He could stay out of trouble, but maybe start living his own life again.

They all knew about the pound. It was yet another something to be careful of. They knew which areas of the city were no-kill, and which were three days and down. It was a mistake you could only make once.

The Santa Monica Animal Shelter was one of the better ones. Brendon knew it was no-kill, but they also had a reputation as something of a doggy spa. There had been an old lady, lots of money, and ungrateful children to thank for that.

So Brendon went to a park. One with a lot of kids and their parents, but very few dogs. He wanted to stand out. Needed to stand out. He was off leash. A dog without a collar. Some concerned citizen was sure to call him in.

It took longer than he figured, for how nice a neighborhood it was. Brendon had to take a dump perilously close to a sandbox for somebody to really get anxious. He hated doing it. It wasn’t like he had anything against the kids, he just needed to get picked up. Brendon was kind of ashamed of his tactics, but in the end, it worked.

The dogcatcher was swift and efficient, but gentle. Brendon appreciated it.

The Santa Monica Animal Shelter was over-rated. It was nice, but it didn’t have carpeted kennels, or tv, or like, doggy massage or anything. Brendon was disappointed for a little while, but buried it when it was his turn with the veterinarian.

Time with a shelter vet could go south pretty fast. Brendon got lucky. The guy was distracted--actually on the phone! Brendon mentally shook his head for the quality of the modern American attention span, even if it turned out to his benefit. He could have found himself neutered, but instead, just got a quick once-over, a shot of antibiotics, and a pat on the head before being shunted back out to the kennels. It was so perfunctory that Brendon hadn’t even had time to worry if the vet noticed anything odd. He clearly hadn’t.

Brendon’s next step was to wait. Sitting around in a three-by-four cage wasn’t the most exciting thing ever, but he had a good feeling that it would pay off. He caught up on a lot of sleep, at least.

Near the end of the day, a man walked in. All the other people that had shown up at the shelter that day didn’t even get Brendon to twitch, but this one, _this one_. Here was potential. He was elegant, like maybe he had a little bit of money, but not so much to make him stiff. He probably did well for himself. He was a little nervous too; not outwardly, but the way he carried himself, and the way he smelled-- _oh, the way he smelled!_ Brendon almost swooned. This was the one.

Brendon sat up straight, ears pricked up, listening carefully to the man speaking with the shelter guy. He lived alone, and was looking for a big dog. Brendon puffed out his chest. He was a big dog. He was one of the bigger dogs there, and he had a nice coat, so his chances were good.

As he passed by the kennel, Brendon pressed a soft paw on the cage, looking into his eyes. The man’s eyes were startlingly blue. Brendon cocked his head and groaned a little for effect. It was desperate, but it worked. The man stopped in his tracks.

Brendon was his. He was Spencer’s.

***

The idea was that Brendon would get himself adopted so he could lay low for a while. It turned out a bit different from that. Spencer was _nice_. Brendon soon found himself evaluating him. He was checking him out. It could work. Plans changed.

Living with Spencer was a dog’s dream. Well. Except for the part where Spencer named him “Buddy”. It was excruciating. Brendon even gave him a look. _Seriously? You’re going with “Buddy”?_ Spencer saw it, and even read it for what it was, but he just shrugged sheepishly. What are you gonna do?

The plan was to stay with Spencer for a week, figure out his story, his schedule, see if it was something Brendon could get to work. But it was _good_. It was comfortable. It revolved around a lot of tv.

Brendon would watch tv with Spencer. He would fall asleep to infomercials, even though it was just as comfortable on the rug at the foot of Spencer’s bed. He would lie in front of the tv because it was easier that way. He didn’t have to see Spencer in his bedroom, being all distracting. And Spencer watched good shows.

Brendon didn’t see a lot of television when he was with Pete’s pack. It’s not that they didn’t have one. They had several. They were either too busy, or too tired, or somebody was watching something else in which Brendon had no interest. He wasn’t one to watch tv just for the sake of it.

Spencer favored eighties and nineties syndicated comedies. Rationally, Brendon knew they were terrible. It wasn’t award winning programming or anything, but Spencer really liked it. _Boy Meets World_ for goodness sake. Brendon kind of wanted to smack the one kid, but Cory and Topanga were really cute together. They watched “Full House”, “Fresh Prince”, and even occasionally “Gilmore Girls”, which depressed Brendon, even if Rory’s boyfriends were hot. But through all of them, Spencer would stroke his fur, rub his scruff, and scratch behind his ears. Spencer would laugh at the tv, and Brendon would do anything to get him to laugh some more.

***

One week turned into a month. A month turned into three. Brendon kept his belly to the ground, and he watched Spencer closely. He learned a great deal.

Brendon’s first impression of Spencer, that he was a little anxious and possibly had some money, was not quite accurate. He did pretty well for himself, but there was more to it than that. And Spencer wasn’t anxious, he was sad.

Spencer worked as a data analyst for Los Angeles county. It took forever for Brendon to figure out what he did for a living. Spencer had no real reason to talk to _his dog_ about his job other than random everyday sort of comments and complaints, and he kept very little of anything job related at home for Brendon to snoop in while he was out. It was a pretty good job, but what Spencer brought home didn’t match up with some of what Brendon could see in the house.

First of all, Spencer had a house. In LA. He was twenty-four and he owned a house in LA. That alone had Brendon mystified. He drove a pretty nice car. Brendon liked to hang his head out the window when they drove. Some of the more doggy pleasures weren’t very dignified, but Brendon was beyond caring about it. And lastly, Spencer had art. He had actual paintings hanging on his walls, not prints. They were kind of weird, and not Brendon’s taste at all, but Spencer seemed to like them. It was strange.

Spencer went to a therapist every Wednesday. This was easier for Brendon to figure out. He was one of those guys who treated his dog more like a furry roommate than a pet--which was more true than he knew. Spencer chatted amiably at Brendon while he got ready for work, kind of a verbal to-do list before he would crouch down for one last good scratch behind Brendon’s ear and reassure him that he would be back. Spencer always said that he would be back. It made Brendon wonder why he needed the reassurance.

It was Spencer who needed the reassurance. After some weeks of careful poking around, Brendon found what he was looking for. Why Spencer seemed to have no social life outside of work and his therapist. Why he had a wall full of pictures of people bearing a strong resemblance to him but the phone never rang.

There had been a car crash.

Spencer’s parents had been bringing his eighteen-year-old sisters out to Los Angeles for the dual purpose of visiting colleges and visiting Spencer. Brendon stood for a long time looking at the photographs of Spencer’s family. The girls had been beautiful. They were twins; one was blonde, the other brunette, bookends to Spencer, who was somewhere in the middle. So many pictures portrayed the three of them together, happy, draped all over one another on the ski slopes, at the beach. They clearly meant the world to him. And they were gone. They were all gone.

The difference between Spencer’s lifestyle and his income turned out to be his inheritance. It hadn’t been anything spectacular, but Spencer was careful, and smart, and lucky. The house had become something to keep him occupied, keep his mind off his troubles, keep him sane. He had bought it cheap (for LA) and fixed it up slowly over the course of the year. There were still things to do, of course. Brendon watched as Spencer painted walls, refinished wood floors, tiled the bathroom.

Brendon really enjoyed watching Spencer work on the house. He got into it; Spencer had a tool belt and everything. Brendon liked watching Spencer change from the guy he was at work into the guy he was at home. It made something inside tremble and twist, thinking of other changes he wanted to see in Spencer. He liked to pretend that it was something deep and meaningful, that he paid close attention to Spencer while he made his plans. But really it was just that Spencer was so very pretty. He was tall, and his long legs seemed to go on forever, and he liked to wear his tool belt kind of slung low, over his hips.

It worked for a while. The house, the therapist, even Brendon himself kept Spencer together.

But it wasn’t enough. Spencer needed to rejoin the world. He needed friends. He needed to date. Brendon would find him friends if he had to. The dating thing he could do without. The longer Brendon stayed with Spencer the more attached he got. Brendon did his best to act like a dog, but it became less and less what he wanted. What he wanted was Spencer. And he just didn’t know.

Brendon was a great dog. He never chewed things, never barked, would even bring Spencer the leash when he had to go out. He was maybe _too_ good. Spencer kind of began to think he was going nuts. Something was off. Spencer talked to him a lot more, especially on days he saw his therapist.

“Are we out of yogurt? _And_ ice cream?” Spencer shook his head exasperatedly while Brendon sat at his feet looking innocent. He hoped he looked innocent, anyway. The ice cream had been really good. “I swear I just bought some. No?” He reached down and ruffled Brendon’s fur. “If only I had a boyfriend, he could tell me I wasn’t crazy.”

The happy bark leaped out of Brendon’s mouth all on it’s own. Spencer laughed and tweaked Brendon’s ear before closing the refrigerator. _Boyfriend!_ Brendon had everything he needed to know. He just had to work himself up to doing something about it.

But for the lack of feathers, Brendon was a total chicken. He knew that if he wanted to move his plan along, he had to actually do something. What he didn’t want to do, and what he seemed ultimately unable to avoid, was hurt Spencer. One day, Buddy was going to run away. It was going to devastate him. Brendon wanted to put off that moment for as long as he could.

Besides, it was really very nice being Spencer’s dog. They went running in the hills on weekends and sometimes in the early morning before Spencer had to go to work. It was good for both of them, for various reasons. It kept them fit, of course, but also, for Brendon, it released much of the tension he carried, being unable to be himself with Spencer. It almost made him wistful for the pack--how they would run in the desert and just let it all go. Almost, but not quite. Their time was coming, even if Spencer didn’t know it yet. Plus, he just liked to watch Spencer run. He had such nice, long legs, and he kept a steady pace. And he smelled fantastic when he got all sweaty. Brendon wasn’t above noticing.

Brendon liked the routine they kept. They drove to the beach once a week as well. He loved the beach--it had been part of his plan all along, after all--and so, evidently, did Spencer. They would tumble out of the car and race into the surf, swimming and kicking against the waves until they were exhausted, Brendon barking happily all the while, and Spencer laughing. Brendon loved it when Spencer laughed. He would throw his head back, and his eyes would sparkle. He didn’t do it nearly enough. Brendon could see how he continued to struggle with the loss of his family. It didn’t take a genius to see that he took very little pleasure from the world, and much of that was from the time he spent with Brendon. The knowledge saddened him, but it heartened him too. Spencer would take Brendon’s offer when he made it; he was sure.

Spencer would take Brendon to the beach after he had been to therapy. He was happier, or at least he _needed to be_ happier, after talking it all out for the week. He needed the release. Brendon loved it. He loved Spencer, and how he seemed lighter and younger when they played together in the sand. _And Spencer in a wet suit._ Spencer out of his wet suit, water dripping from his too-long hair, board shorts clinging to his hips making Brendon long for transformation, for fingers he could press against damp skin. It was enough to have him panting. He was a dog; Spencer didn’t notice.

***

Brendon spent much of his time while Spencer was at work just hanging around the house. He was careful to listen for any deviations in Spencer’s tidy schedule. It wouldn’t do to be surprised by an early return. But Spencer was always sure to tell his dog he would come home. Often to within fifteen minutes. It was important to him.

Brendon’s early days had consisted of a lot of recon. He learned what he could about Spencer, at first to make sure he was what he said he was and that Brendon wasn’t going to find himself on the wrong end of a situation--anywhere from a dog fight to a science lab. When Spencer turned out to be just a guy, Brendon dug deeper, found history, personality, all intermingled with tantalizing wisps of scent. Brendon fell, and he fell hard. Spencer was just what he wanted. Now he had to figure out how to lose the pet and find the man.

As Brendon’s residency lengthened, he grew more confident and more comfortable in Spencer’s space. He would note the estimated time of arrival, wait somewhat less than patiently for an hour or so--just to make sure that Spencer really, _really_ was gone for the day--then he would trot into the bathroom to transform.

Brendon had been a member of Pete’s pack for several years before it disintegrated. For him, the change was something he could do with a minimum of effort and practically no mess. He emerged from his coat naked and glistening faintly with a sheen of moisture. Most days he didn’t bother with clothes. Spencer’s wouldn’t fit, for the most part. He was bigger and taller than Brendon, so unless Brendon was in the mood for sweatpants or basketball shorts, he just left it alone. He kind of preferred to be naked anyway. He liked how it felt to walk through the house in just his skin.

Brendon would change, and unless he had a specific task in mind, he would usually wander into the kitchen and see what he could get away with eating. He wasn’t very good at being stealthy about it; he had a fairly substantial appetite. Brendon did indeed eat the entire half gallon of ice cream. _Spencer got really good ice cream!_ And in his defense, it _had_ taken him all day.

Brendon also liked to lie around. He would make himself comfortable on the couch and maybe take a nap. Sit in the comfy chair. Go laze in Spencer’s bed.

Spencer’s bed was phenomenal. It was gigantic, first of all. Spencer was a reasonably tall guy, and liked to sprawl. He had plenty of room. Secondly, it was, like, the perfect firmness. Not so soft that he sunk down into it, but not so hard that he could entertain himself by bouncing quarters off of it. Brendon had set a strict rule for himself, though, to not sleep in Spencer’s room. He wasn’t doing it as a dog, and he wouldn’t do it as a guy. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t check it out from time to time though.

Brendon liked Spencer’s bed in the early afternoon. The sun slanted in through the windows and warmed the sheets, so when Brendon strolled into the bedroom he could smell Spencer everywhere. As he grew accustomed to the routine, more comfortable in the house, Brendon got bolder. He would leap onto the bed and roll in it, like a dog in a good stink, but it was so nice; so nice that he would squirm and writhe until all he could smell was Spencer. Then he would stop; just lie there and luxuriate in it.

The first time Brendon noticed that he was hard after a good roll in Spencer’s bed, he just went with it. He snuggled back into the pillows and reached between his legs with a contented sigh. Life was good at Spencer’s. So what if he had to spend the majority of his time as a pet? Spencer was a great guy and treated his dog well. Brendon had the time he needed to figure out what he was doing and a safe place to do it. It didn’t hurt that Spencer was smoking hot and the first thing that popped into Brendon’s head as his fingers curled around his cock.

Brendon stroked himself lazily. Spencer wasn’t due home for hours, and he needed, what? five, ten minutes, tops. Images of Spencer flickered behind his eyelids, coupled with the warm scent surrounding him. Spencer lounging on the back deck, beer dangling between two fingers. Spencer at the beach, cheeks pink, skin glistening wet in the sun. Spencer in the kitchen, Brendon at his feet. Brendon’s back arched and he came across his belly, toes scrabbling for purchase against the sheets. The weirdest little things got him off these days. He swiped his hand through the pool of come and almost reached out to wipe it off on the sheet when he froze.

_What if he could smell it?_

And Brendon promptly freaked out. Spencer never had anyone over. Brendon could barely tell that Spencer ever touched _himself_ as he lay in his bed--and frankly, _that_ , if anything, could have been a go-to fantasy if Brendon had really needed one. The smell of Brendon’s come hung thick in the air. He could definitely tell that there had been something going on in there. He was fucked if Spencer could too.

Brendon eased himself out of bed on shaking legs and made his way to the bathroom. He showered carefully, making sure to put back everything exactly where it had been before. Spencer’s towel hanging on the back of the door saved him from having to do something elaborate, like an emergency load of laundry, but Brendon’s hands still shook as he dried himself off, Spencer’s lingering scent both taunting and tormenting him.

He was much more cautious after that. Not cautious enough to stop from doing it again, but more so. No evidence.

***

The next stage of Brendon’s plan involved meeting Spencer as a human, and if he was lucky, dating. It was way more convoluted being human.

Brendon kept a bank account from back when he actually had a job, so he could have money if he needed it for some reason. That alone made it worthwhile to be a dog for as long as possible. It was a terrible pain in the ass to manage. His address was a P.O. box, but keeping that thing from piling up with junk mail was the least of his worries. Brendon had to have ID. Brendon _had_ ID--he had an ATM card, of course, and an old, expired driver’s license back from the pack days when he drove for Pete. His problem was that most dogs didn’t exactly carry a wallet. Spencer would have noticed. The _dogcatcher_ would have noticed.

The solution was a lock box. Well, it wasn’t exactly locked, but it was a box. When Brendon had first decided on Santa Monica as his hiding place, he had found a place deep back in one of the lesser-travelled parks and buried his box in a secluded spot. When he needed it, Brendon could simply unearth the container and rejoin the human world. Provided he had some clothes.

Brendon waited until mid-day to leave the house alone for the first time. He dressed in some of Spencer’s clothes--basketball shorts cinched tight around Brendon’s skinny hips and an old t-shirt that Brendon loved because it was a little too small for Spencer and rode up when he wore it, exposing flashes of pale skin. He stepped into a pair of raggedy flip flops and slipped out the back door, spare key tucked in his palm and security system blinking assuredly behind him.

The neighborhood was pretty empty during the day, but Brendon was careful rounding the house just the same. It wouldn’t do to run into anyone and get himself arrested. His first fear, actually was “get himself shot”, but Spencer’s neighbors were less likely to be toting guns than others he had had.

Brendon’s first order of business was to retrieve his box from the park. He could move it to a corner of the garden later. With that done, Brendon hit up a couple thrift stores. He needed some regular everyday clothes that fit him correctly, and then he could get a nicer outfit or two. He couldn’t expect to meet Spencer while wearing his clothes. Brendon could always keep his things in a locker at the bus station. Not ideal, but he wasn’t going to go out and set himself up an apartment he wouldn’t be able to use more than a few hours a week.

[on to part 2-->](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/18681.html#cutid1)


	2. Imminence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon is a werewolf, a creature who can turn himself into canine form at will. Spencer is just a lonely guy trying to make it in LA. They come together when Brendon abandons his pack and finds a place to start a new life just when Spencer decides to start living his again after a painful loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on the novel “Sharp Teeth” by Toby Barlow. Beta generously provided by [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[cloudlessclimes](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[kueble](http://kueble.livejournal.com/). Written for [](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[bandombigbang](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/) 2011, wave 2.

**Title:** Imminence  
 **Author:** [](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/profile)[**ohnoscarlett**](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/)  
 **Band(s):** PatD (plus some FOB for good measure)  
 **Pairing(s):** Brendon/Spencer  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 11,625  
 **Warnings:** mentions of past domestic abuse, offscreen minor character death  
 **Summary:** Brendon is a werewolf, a creature who can turn himself into canine form at will. Spencer is just a lonely guy trying to make it in LA. They come together when Brendon abandons his pack and finds a place to start a new life just when Spencer decides to start living his again after a painful loss.  
 **Author’s Notes:** Loosely based on the novel “Sharp Teeth” by Toby Barlow. Beta generously provided by [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[**cloudlessclimes**](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/) and [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[**kueble**](http://kueble.livejournal.com/). Written for [](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandombigbang**](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/) 2011, wave 2.

 

[back to part 1](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/18338.html)

  
Spencer liked to stop at this little independent music store sometimes on his way home. It wasn’t even remotely on his route, but if he had the time, he would swing by. Spencer didn’t really listen to the radio--at least for music, not voluntarily. Spencer liked NPR; it was soothing. The only exposure he got to popular music anymore was from whatever was turned up too loud from somebody’s cubicle. You heard some interesting stuff bleeding out of other peoples’ speakers.

Spencer liked music more along the lines of what he could find tucked away in the corners of that store. He tended to like weird indie, or obscure Euro-pop. He only occasionally bought something, but the owner--who also was the guy behind the counter 90% of the time--liked to try and tempt him with selections chosen just for Spencer. He quickly caught on to what Spencer liked, and was rather good with his choices. While Spencer probably only bought one in four albums suggested to him, he would usually go home and try to find the others on the internet, just to preview. He would poke around, listening to bits of this and that, confer with the dog, get his opinion so-to-speak, before he would go back and make a purchase. The shopkeeper would invariably grin and nod sagely. Clearly, he knew what he was doing.

Spencer would stop at the music store--that one in particular--because he could kill two birds with one stone. It was close to the beach. Spencer could swing by, dig around the bins for a while, then cut across and check out the water. He liked to take the dog to the beach, but he wouldn’t if the surf was too rough. They played pretty hard, actually out in the water, and it wouldn’t do if they got pulled out in a rip or even just tumbled too many times in the waves. Buddy was a pretty strong swimmer, but he didn’t want to push it.

Spencer would go to that music store from the other direction sometimes too. When he and Buddy went to the beach, Spencer would take him for a walk after they played in the water. Buddy had fairly thick fur and Spencer didn’t want the inside of his car smelling like wet dog ass for days afterward. They would wander around until Buddy was more or less dry, and it often took them by the music store. Spencer wouldn’t go in, of course, even if the guy always said it was ok. They would both be wet and sandy, and there was no way Spencer would drag all that into a store when he could just browse through the stuff that they had out on the sidewalk.

There never were a lot of other people hanging around in that store either, which was another reason Spencer liked it. It was small, and it was out of the way, and it was practically his. It wasn’t like he was actively avoiding other people--he went to work, and he went to the beach--but, well. Spencer didn’t get out much. It got his attention when he felt someone’s eyes on him.

Spencer looked up from the “G” bin to find a guy looking at him. He totally wasn’t being subtle about it either. He was closer to the end of the meticulously alphabetized record collection, hands shifting gently through a bin of vinyls. He smiled when Spencer caught his eye, and it took his breath away. Guy was gorgeous and Spencer couldn’t tear himself away. The guy’s smile widened perceptibly and Spencer blushed, dropping his gaze. Spencer had examined the entire Peter Gabriel library about six times when a shadow fell and he looked up again. It was him.

“I can’t believe you don’t have that,” the guy said, gesturing to the CDs in front of Spencer.

“Oh, I do,” Spencer replied. “Just--”

“Have to look in case something epic just materializes one day?” he said, smirk playing around his lips.

“Pretty much,” Spencer agreed.

“Yeah,” the guy heaved a sigh. “I feel that way about Journey.” Spencer laughed before he could stop himself, horrified, but the guy just joined in. “No, really! _Really!_ I had a vintage copy of ‘Escape’ on vinyl, but...” he held his hands out sadly. “No more.”

“Bummer,” Spencer replied lamely, immediately mentally kicking himself.

“Yeah, well,” the guy said, shuffling his feet. “What are you gonna do?”

“I, uh. I have that record, actually,” Spencer spit out before he could talk himself out of it. The guy’s face lit up, and Spencer’s stomach may or may not have actually twirled. He was an idiot.

“ _You do?_ ” the guy leaned closer over the bins and Spencer took a good, head-on look at him. It wasn’t a good idea--Spencer suddenly had no idea what to say. His initial impression had been correct: the guy was just gorgeous. He had big, dark eyes ringed with a thick fringe of lashes, a shock of crazy messy hair, and a mouth that made him thank god or whoever was listening that he was gay. Spencer tried--and failed--not to blush furiously, but the guy just grinned and held out his hand. “I’m Brendon. I would like to listen to Journey with you.”

***

That first day they just ended up walking around in that neighborhood near the beach. Brendon was funny and talkative and didn’t mind that Spencer was kind of shy. He did his best. The time flew. But then one minute Brendon was making noises about food, and then he suddenly had to get going.

“I don’t have a cell phone,” Brendon said randomly. Spencer was confused.

“How do you not--”

“Just don’t. Never have,” Brendon replied shortly. “But I have email.”

Spencer felt like he was being blown off. And he couldn’t figure out why he cared. But he took a hastily scrawled note, made sure he could decipher it, then ripped off the bottom, neatly penning in his own email address. Brendon snatched it away before the ink was even dry.

“Okay,” Spencer said dryly.

“I gotta run,” Brendon sputtered. “I am _so_ late, oh my god. I’ll email you.”

“Sure.”

“I will,” Brendon said, slowing down and turning back to look at Spencer seriously. “Tomorrow. First thing.”

Spencer wasn’t going to hold his breath. But he watched, clutching a paper cup with an inch of coffee left at the bottom, as Brendon practically ran down the block and disappeared. When he was gone, Spencer glanced at his watch and cursed. He was late getting home too. Buddy needed to go out.

***

Brendon ended up spending the last of the cash on him catching a cab back to Spencer’s neighborhood. It was too far and too obvious for him to run as a human in the daytime. But he grinned the whole ride back, even as he got out of the cab a few blocks from the house and booked it the rest of the way. He burst in through the back door, hurriedly re-arming the security system before running through the house to the back bedroom. It wasn’t ideal, but Brendon stripped down as quickly as he could, folded his clothes into a neat pile, and stuffed them as far back in the closet as he could, balancing an old shoe box on top for good measure. Spencer rarely went into that bedroom, and Brendon had yet to see him go into that closet. When he was reasonably assured that he wasn’t getting caught on the first try, he made his way into the bathroom and changed.

Buddy was dozing in a patch of sun in the kitchen when Spencer got home fifteen minutes later.

***

There was a message waiting in Spencer’s email inbox when he got to work.

_Had a great time yesterday. Really glad I met you. Would like to see you again! Tonight? Tomorrow? Friday Saturday Sunday all of the above?  
bden_

Spencer stifled a laugh and shook his head. Brendon had been as good as his word. Spencer was kind of amazed; his faith in people had been shattered. He tended to be a bit mystified when people actually did what they said they would. His standards were admittedly sort of low on that point.

Spencer took a few minutes to go over his calendar. He knew without looking that he had his weekly appointment with his therapist. Other than that, his schedule was clear. He had certain things he did with Buddy from day to day, of course. He was sure that people would tell him to go ahead and do things with actual _people_ , but dogs, like children, appreciated a routine. _Spencer_ appreciated a routine.

_Brendon,_  
you seem to be very much a man of few electronic words. I would like to see you again as well, but can’t do tonight. Thursday?  
Spencer 

It was so simple, and he really hadn’t committed himself to anything, but Spencer’s hands shook after he clicked “send”. He hadn’t been on a date in a very long time. He had a moment of complete and utter terror, afraid that they had gotten their lines crossed. _What if Brendon wasn’t interested in a date? What if he was just being friendly?_ He had to sit back and rehash the prior evening in his head. Brendon definitely seemed interested, at least to Spencer’s rusty point of view. He made eye contact a lot, he walked too close, and he had _touched_ Spencer several times.

Spencer found himself wanting to go out.

***

Spencer’s therapist was practically beside herself when he told her about his week. He kind of thought that maybe she ought to rein it in a little. It wasn’t like he was a shut-in. He had been _grieving_. It would have been disrespectful to go running all over the place with his parents and baby sisters still warm in the ground.

He pouted about it for a bit, just on principle, but then she caught him blushing when he talked about making plans with Brendon and she actually _chortled_ with glee. Spencer sighed and rolled his eyes. His therapist was an idiot.

Buddy’s tail thumped against the floor enthusiastically when Spencer got home. It was beach night. Spencer hadn’t done a drive-by to check on the water, but they were going anyway. He kind of hoped to see Brendon, if he was being truthful.

Spencer talked to Buddy on the drive. He usually did. It was almost like another therapy session, but without as much verbal feedback. Spencer could go through it all again and roll it around in his head and Buddy wouldn’t tell him one way or another whether it was a good thing that he seemed ready to move on. That he needed to get out. That he needed to get laid. Although Buddy’s well-timed sneeze there was pretty funny.

***

_Even his dog thought he needed to get laid._ That thought repeated over and over in Spencer’s head as he tried not to come the second Brendon’s hand snaked down into his pants. They had met at a bar not far from the beach to have a few drinks. It seemed to be going pretty well. Brendon continued to smile a lot, and touched Spencer’s arm more than a couple times for no discernible reason. When Brendon begged off to go outside for a quick smoke--he was trying to quit--the look in his eye had Spencer tag along.

The cigarettes never appeared. The second the two of them were out of doors, Spencer found himself pressed up against a brick wall with Brendon’s tongue in his mouth. It was quick, and it was furtive, and it was _hot_. Brendon was lean and hard under Spencer’s hands and unafraid, apparently, to go for the gold and whip out Spencer’s cock right there in the alley. Spencer’s knees sagged, and Brendon pressed him even more firmly against the building, teeth rough on his jaw.

“Not yet, not yet,” Brendon murmured against his skin, and Spencer was shocked back from the brink by his audacity. Enough that he could get his own hands on Brendon, scuffling between their bodies to undo Brendon’s pants even as he did his best to countermand himself and get Spencer off as fast as possible. The sound that emerged from Brendon’s mouth when Spencer touched him, coupled with the sucking bite to his neck, had Spencer trembling and coming over Brendon’s fingers horrifyingly fast. Brendon kissed him through it, moaning and mumbling encouragement for Spencer to maintain his grip. Brendon thrust into his fist once or twice, the wet head of his cock bumping past his knuckles, finally coming with a yelp when Spencer sucked firmly on his plump bottom lip.

“Wow,” Brendon gasped, pressing his forehead briefly to Spencer’s before stepping back to do up his pants and allowing Spencer to do the same. “What’s the second date going to look like?”

Spencer blushed and stammered and Brendon laughed.

“I don’t usually--” he began warily, but Brendon cut him off.

“No, no, don’t judge.” Brendon kissed him softly, snaking his arms around Spencer’s neck and pressing their bodies together briefly. He seemed to catch sight of his watch and let his head thump down on Spencer’s shoulder. “I have to go.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah. My roommate has... expectations,” Brendon said cryptically.

“What, do you live with your mom?” Spencer asked sarcastically. Brendon snorted.

“ _No_ , but. My roommate will be pissed if I get in late.”

***

Being with Brendon was amazing. Spencer had been alone for so long it took him some time to get used to seeing people again. Brendon kept him on his toes. Spencer never knew what he would be up to.

In some aspects, Brendon was kind of old fashioned. He didn’t have a phone, for one. He didn’t want one. He didn’t like being tied to it, like he saw with so many people. If somebody wanted him, they could find him. He did have email, after all, and that was how he and Spencer set up many of their plans.

Brendon preferred to go to a bank teller rather than an ATM. Spencer just thought that was bizarre, because _nobody_ actually went inside a bank if they didn’t have to. But Brendon seemed to like it. He liked the face-to-face interaction.

That seemed to be true much of the time. If they could get together, Brendon would much rather meet up with Spencer than send messages back and forth. It was almost like Brendon couldn’t get enough of him. And it wasn’t all about the sex. They did things. Brendon took Spencer surfing. They went bowling, to the movies, and shopping in all the weird little stores tucked in here and there, and they ate everywhere. For a relatively little guy, Brendon ate like it was a competition. Spencer thought it was hilarious, and would often try to get Brendon to eat weird things. And he would.

But then there was the sex. Lots and lots of it. Sometimes Spencer thought that Brendon was some kind of freaky dude, who liked car sex and sex in alleys and at the beach. Spencer didn’t have a _problem_ with it, per se; he was having regular sex with a hot guy--he would have to be an idiot to have a problem with that. But he was trying to loosen up. Spencer had a routine. Including Brendon in his life broke his routine. He tried to be more spontaneous, and it did help. He fell for Brendon, and he slowly emerged from his depression.

***

Spencer liked to take Brendon for walks to the park. He liked having a destination, rather than an aimless wander around the block. Brendon just thinks that it’s kind of funny that it’s the same park where the dogcatcher picked him up. Of course Spencer didn’t know that.

It had been months, but Brendon always wondered if anyone recognized him when they went out. People probably recognized him as _Spencer’s dog_ , but that didn’t worry him. What did was the possibility that someone would recognize him from _before_.

There were plenty of other dogs in the neighborhood. Mostly little guys, who wouldn’t give Brendon the time of day, even if they knew Brendon could eat them whole. Maybe it was in spite of that. The yippy little bastards. There were a couple labs and golden retrievers (dumb, oh man) and one gorgeous weimaraner who could almost make Brendon forget he liked guys. _Human_ guys. Brendon wasn’t a fan of doggy style. Even if it meant you could do it in the street and make all the noise you wanted.

They were doing the walk in the park when Brendon noticed the strange dog. It didn’t make him think twice until they got downwind of him. Brendon’s hackles raised of their own accord. It wasn’t a dog. He was a wolf.

Brendon tried to maintain his pace, but ended up pulling Spencer along faster than they usually went. Spencer balked and dug his heels in, but Brendon won. So much for maintaining a low profile.

The other one had seen him. He had definitely smelled him. Brendon freaked out and darted frantically around the house until Spencer snagged him, hauling him in and sitting with him in the middle of the kitchen floor, stroking his fur and murmuring soothingly into his ear until Brendon’s heart stopped pounding.

There was no way that was coincidence. They had been in the park where Brendon had chosen to get picked up. That wolf hadn’t just been passing through. He had been looking. Waiting. Stalking.

Brendon had been made.

Each pack had an enforcer, one guy who made sure all the other guys were doing whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. Sometimes it was obvious, but for some, like in Pete’s pack, it was more subtle. The guy with an in with the leader, sure, but more persuasive than rip-your-throat-out. Generally.

That’s really what made Brendon nervous. The dog in the park was a wolf he knew. He had been Pete’s enforcer, and his appearance made it crystal clear that for whatever reason, Pete wanted him back. Pete was closing the ranks and bringing home all the strays. Now, Brendon had always had a pretty amicable relationship with the pack. He knew that Pete had more or less let him go. But now here was Patrick. All bets were off.

***

Brendon was frantic. He had to protect Spencer because now they knew about him. Before, Spencer had just been a means to an end. It surprised Brendon how quickly he became important. He had to protect Spencer the only way he knew how.

Turning Spencer had really just been an idle fantasy. Why would he? Why bring Spencer into a life such as his? He had thought about it, sure, even felt that Spencer would probably do it. But it was harder than that. Things could go wrong.

You have to be able to let the wolf out. Brendon just had to give Spencer the tools to do it. It’s in there; everybody has a wolf inside. Sometimes you had to look deep to find it. For some people it’s more obvious. Spencer was somewhere in the middle.

Not everyone turned, and therein lay Brendon’s problem. He could give Spencer the means, but after that, it was all up to him. Spencer had to let the wolf out all on his own. If he couldn’t, he would die. Brendon doesn't want Spencer to die.

He thought it would work.

***

Brendon worried. What would you do to protect the love you have? He wasn’t going to let Pete take Spencer, and he wasn’t going to drive him away. He had essentially put himself in a corner. Brendon didn’t like it, but he didn’t have to.

_What if Spencer knew?_ That thought ate at him. Brendon _had_ to tell Spencer sooner or later. He had never had to tell anyone before. When Brendon was part of the pack, he lived there; they were his world. No one else _needed_ to know what he was--what they were. In fact, it was a fiercely guarded secret. They took steps to avoid letting anyone outside of the pack get too close. It went against everything Brendon knew to let Spencer in. And that was just Brendon’s side of it. What if he told Spencer and he reacted badly? Anger Brendon could probably deal with. He had dealt with plenty of anger directed his way. But fear? Brendon couldn’t bear it if he laid open his soul to Spencer and it frightened him.

Brendon sent Spencer an email at work, asking if he could meet him for lunch, or maybe get out a little early. Spencer replied almost immediately, which made Brendon grin. He was bored, and more than happy to get the hell out of the office. He was even prepared to make a call in with food poisoning if Brendon was willing to make it worth his while. Brendon could only hope as he sent his response, setting up their date.

***

Brendon was just coming around the corner when Spencer came out of his building. He smiled brightly when he caught sight of Spencer and seemed to pick up his already brisk pace. Spencer couldn’t help the warm surge of affection he felt course through his blood. They fell in step together and continued on down the sidewalk, walking closely, but not quite touching.

“So where did you want to go?” Spencer asked, even though their current direction limited their options somewhat.

“I don’t know,” Brendon replied with a shrug. “Do you just want to get a sandwich or something?”

“Sure. Do you wanna..?” he gestured lamely in the general direction of a place they had been to before. Brendon grinned, so Spencer took it as affirmation and kept walking.

Brendon was quieter than usual during lunch. He wolfed down his sandwich with his standard aplomb, though, so Spencer crossed off “sick” from his list of things that could be up with him. He could ask, but Spencer didn’t like to push, and Brendon was very close-mouthed about himself. It was a little weird, but Brendon seemed to like to talk about everything else. In great detail.

When they finished, Spencer needed little more convincing than Brendon raising his eyebrows at him to take the rest of the afternoon off and just go back to his house. Spencer’s heart pounded as they walked back to the parking garage to pick up his car. They slipped in to their seats in near silence. The only sounds coming from belts clicking, jingling keys, and finally the various sounds from the car itself. Spencer could practically taste the tension in the air.

“You’ve never been to my house before,” Spencer said finally.

“I know.” Brendon’s voice was low and soft, curling around Spencer’s skin and giving the impression that he sat much closer than he did. Spencer shivered. It was a tiny motion, but Spencer saw out of the corner of his eye that Brendon had noticed. He raised a suggestive eyebrow and Brendon laughed, much to Spencer’s relief and delight. It was just nerves.

They walked into the house and Spencer immediately noticed that Buddy was missing. His heart rate skyrocketed, and Brendon put his hand on Spencer’s arm to calm him. He took a deep centering breath, all the while categorizing in his mind all the ways Buddy could have possibly gotten out.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Brendon says gently.

“How could you possibly--”

“Spencer,” Brendon says firmly. His tone had Spencer looking at him carefully. “Could we sit down for a minute?”

“Sure, I guess,” Spencer replied, somewhat taken aback. “In here.”

Spencer led Brendon into the living room, waiting for Brendon to sit before he sat down beside him. Brendon smiled and reached out abortively, tucking his hands under his thighs. Spencer frowned and just went to shove his own hand under Brendon’s leg when he spoke.

“I need to--”

“Oh god,” Spencer cut him off. Brendon’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“You’re going to break up with me, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Spencer stated it as a fact, and Brendon’s eyes widened even further as he backpedalled.

“No! No! Spencer, no, I wouldn’t do that,” he blurted out. It almost seemed to relax them both, to have that out in the air.

“Okay. Good. Because I have plans,” Spencer said, smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah? Like what?” Brendon leered, leaning in ever so slightly.

“Well, I kind of need to find my dog first, but then--”

“Um, that’s. Kind of related to what I need to say,” Brendon mumbled. Spencer just squinted at him, confused. “ _I’m Buddy._ ”

“I’m sorry?”

“You pointed out yourself that I’ve never been to your house,” Brendon continued.

“So? How does that--”

“It’s like Superman and Clark Kent,” Brendon tried to explain. Spencer tilted his head and just looked at him dubiously. Brendon clearly was having a psychotic break. Spencer had all the luck. “You never see them together! Because they’re the same person.”

“Uh huh.”

“You haven’t thought I’m a little weird?”

“I’m thinking you’re a whole lot weird right now, actually,” Spencer retorted.

“I don’t have a cell phone. Who in Los Angeles doesn’t have a cell phone? And you’ve never been to my place. Ever wonder why?”

“I just. I figured you didn’t want to take it there. You liked to--Or... you didn’t want to disturb your roommate,” Spencer replied tentatively.

“ _You’re_ the roommate,” Brendon said. Like it was obvious.

“This is crazy,” Spencer replied, wiping his hands off on his pants.

“It’s not, Spencer, I swear. Please, let me--”

“What? What are you going to say to convince me you haven’t lost your damn mind?” Spencer snapped.

“Nothing,” Brendon said softly. “Let me show you.”

Brendon stood and went to the bathroom. Spencer sat scowling on the couch, cursing his bad luck. Finally decides to go out and date again and he picks up a lunatic.

Buddy trotted out into the living room and Spencer hopped up.

“There you are!” Spencer bent down to ruffle Buddy’s scruff. “Where were you hiding? Did you lock yourself in the bathroom?” The dog cocked his head. Spencer yelled over his shoulder, “Okay, Brendon! Come on.”

Buddy barked, two short, attention-grabbing barks. Spencer looked at him, and the dog just looked back. It was kind of disconcerting. Buddy let out a whuff of air and stood up in a whirl of legs and tail. He danced a few steps back toward the open bathroom door, pausing to glance back at Spencer. When Spencer didn’t move, he ran a few quick loops around him before trying his little dance again. Spencer rolled his eyes and took a step toward him. Buddy barked once more and hopped along a little further. He clearly wanted Spencer to follow him. When Spencer gave in and moved closer, Buddy turned away and ran into the bathroom. Spencer followed.

It was empty.

Spencer looked in the tub, inanely, because the frosted glass door did little to conceal anything on it’s best day, let alone Brendon if he was trying to hide. There wasn’t a closet, nor was there a window. Spencer sat down on the toilet lid. Brendon was gone.

Buddy wiggled up between Spencer’s legs and licked his face. Spencer snorted, wiping his face off on his sleeve. Buddy’s wagging tail ruffled the towels hanging on a rack on the wall behind him. When one fell, Spencer stood to retrieve it. And uncovered the pile of Brendon’s clothes on the floor. Spencer sat down hard, the toilet clattering with the force of it. Buddy sat at his feet, his tail still, Brendon’s clothes beside him.

“What the hell?” Spencer dragged a hand roughly through his hair, tugging hard at the back. Buddy barked again, startlingly sharp and echoing through the small space. He nosed at Spencer’s free hand until he petted him absently.

Buddy darted out of the bathroom and barked once before dashing in again and sitting back down at Spencer’s feet. He looked up expectantly at him for a moment before doing it all again. Spencer stood after the second bark, following the dog out into the hallway. Buddy crowded around him back into the bathroom, but before Spencer could follow, he found the door shut in his face.

Spencer stood there for a moment just mystified. It was the strangest behavior he had ever seen from Buddy, and he admittedly had kind of a weird dog. He figured it was good to know that Buddy could--and would--close doors behind himself, even if he couldn’t open them again. It was more than he could say for some of his college roommates. He reached out to turn the door handle to let him out again, but it wouldn’t go.

“Just... Wait. A minute. Spence,” he heard softly from the other side. “Please.”

“What the fuck, Brendon?” Spencer yelled, jiggling the door handle.

“Let me just--”

And the door popped open to reveal Brendon, shirt off, no shoes or socks, and his pants just barely hanging on. He looked ruffled. And oddly... sweaty? He looked much like he did after they’d been fooling around, and apparently, they’d been doing it enough that Spencer’s body was hardwired to respond accordingly. It irritated him.

“Seriously,” Spencer snapped. “What the hell was that? Where did you--”

“I told you,” Brendon said, a little breathless. “I am Buddy. Buddy is me.”

Spencer shook his head and went back to the living room to sprawl on the couch. Brendon followed, sitting down carefully and giving Spencer some space. He didn’t know if he appreciated the gesture or if it grated that Brendon felt he needed to do it. He was so confused.

“I don’t understand, Brendon,” Spencer sighed.

“The need for a superior warrior in the native tribes of the Northwest brought about the first lycanthropes thousands of years ago,” Brendon began quietly. “It worked well for a while. A long while. But then the packs had been wiped out.” He paused, looking down at his hands twisted in his lap and taking a deep breath before continuing. “Most of them were killed, but some lucky few had managed to escape, to scatter. To start over, far away.

“New packs formed wherever the survivors ended up. There is always a Leader, and there is always a Woman. Just one. Everyone else in the pack--all the other guys--they form a hierarchy. It can be kind of fluid, especially in the rank and file, but the top dogs, they tend to stay the same. Until someone takes them out, of course. But everyone has a job, a function, and they’re all kept in line by the Leader and the Woman.”

The breath Brendon drew was shaky, and while Spencer remained somewhat skeptical about what was coming out of his mouth, he still shifted and rested the side of his hand against Brendon’s thigh in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

“I was turned when I was twenty,” Brendon said matter-of-factly. “I met Pete in the hospital when I--” his breath hitched and Spencer found himself squeezing his leg. Brendon looked at where Spencer touched him and moved his hand to cover Spencer’s. “You know some of this,” he said, glancing up and catching Spencer’s eye. “I told you how I got the shit kicked out of me and met somebody who got me out, got me a job, a new life.” Spencer nodded. Brendon had told him about the boyfriend in a rare burst of transparency. “I just didn’t tell you the whole story.”

“Apparently not,” Spencer said dryly. Brendon looked at him, alarmed, but Spencer just shook his head.

“I lived with Pete’s pack for years before it disintegrated,” Brendon continued. “I didn’t have anything to do with that, but I’m sure I didn’t help at all. It was just Ash and Pete. It was kind of horrible to be the pack’s Woman. On the one hand, she was held up and everyone loved her and would do anything for her. She was the motivation. But she was just... bait. If you were good, if you did your job right, maybe, just maybe, Pete would let you have a little time with Ashlee.” Spencer must have made some sound or something because Brendon squeezed his hand. “Yeah. It was almost like he was her pimp. But nobody ever got any. Pete just kept everybody on edge and riled up with promises of her.”

“Poor girl.”

“Yeah. Then she just... had enough of it one day,” Brendon sighed. “And, you know, it didn’t work on me anyway. Well, sort of. Everybody else was all frustrated panting after Ash, and there I was, just frustrated in general.” Brendon shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “But I’m not part of that pack any longer.”

“You’re not,” Spencer half asked, trying to wrap his head around everything.

“Six, seven months now? I’m a coyote, Spencer. Outside the pack, you’re a coyote,” Brendon explained, voice still soft as if telling a secret. Spencer supposed he was. “It’s not easy to survive as a coyote when you’re all alone. There’s _a reason_ to form packs. It’s not all because we’re social creatures--humans and dogs both. _Wolves_. That’s part of it, sure. But you can’t trust anyone else for your strength. You have to find it within yourself, and for so many, they just can’t hack it. They can’t handle being alone.” Brendon trailed off. “I couldn’t handle being alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Spencer replied, surprising himself. Brendon smiled. He no longer seemed delusional. Spencer wondered if _he_ was having a psychotic break, but he went with it.

“You’re right.” Brendon twined their fingers together and kept talking. “The only way it works over the long haul is to lie as low as possible, your belly pressed to the earth til you can find someone else who can watch your back.”

It was so simple. It made sense. Brendon had been doing it for months.

Brendon was silent for a long time after he finished telling Spencer everything. Spencer didn’t speak. He didn’t even move. Brendon slowly straightened, sitting up tall and taking a deep breath before rising to stand before Spencer.

Spencer watched, speechless, as Brendon slowly began to remove his clothes, one piece at a time, and dropped them on the floor.

“You have to move on, Spencer,” he said, so softly that Spencer had to strain to hear. Found himself leaning forward. “You can live by your own rules, not the rest of the world’s. You can leave the past behind.”

***

Brendon sat at the kitchen table with a knife and a handful of bandages. He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at Spencer was an offer all the same. Spencer found himself suddenly wanting it so bad, like the way he wanted Brendon so much he could taste it, and this way, he could have all of it--Brendon, and the wolf, and be happy. It made his head spin.

Spencer didn’t need words either. He sat. And Brendon began.

Brendon cut himself along the length of his little finger. Spencer thought it an odd place, but didn’t question it. Brendon seemed to know what he was doing.

Spencer watched as the blood slipped down past Brendon’s wrist. He watched as Brendon reached for him, slowly, as if not to startle him. He cut under Spencer’s thumb, just under the second knuckle where the flesh swelled into the heel of his hand. Spencer marvelled that it didn’t hurt, at least not until Brendon pressed his bleeding palm down against the table and held on.

It was fast, and it was messy. Seconds before Spencer’s muscles spasmed, and yet Brendon held on, mingling their blood between open wounds and keeping him close. Spencer screamed, his heart racing with adrenaline, his body too hot and twisted.

It didn’t take long for him to lose consciousness; slump on the table and slide down to the floor.

When he woke, Spencer couldn’t tell how much time had passed. It could have been the afternoon, or it could have been the next morning, even days later. But his nose was tucked into Brendon’s neck, and when he turned, Brendon’s eyes looked out at him from inside the wolf. His great wet tongue lolled in an unmistakable doggy smile, and when Spencer returned it, he knew that it had worked. He had survived.

**Fanmix:**  
[Pack Mentality]() by [](http://defect-no9.livejournal.com/profile)[**defect_no9**](http://defect-no9.livejournal.com/)


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